A Place to Call My Own
by kshannon1940
Summary: During his 7th year at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy finds himself in a bleak pit of despair. His family is torn apart, his ambition gone, and his emotions sworn off forever. Can a new friend bring him out of the darkness?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note - Whoops. I posted this before I was quite ready to. Sorry to you who have read it without this note!_

_a bit of a warning, I suppose... this is my first go at a fanfic since the 7th grade. I'm going to try really hard to make it worth reading. Feel free to comment, criticize, or whatever else you can think of. I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this yet, but I have a vague idea. I also don't know how frequently updated it will be, given that I have a lot to painting to do in the next month, and then I'm headed back to school._

_also. I apologize, because I know this is a very short chapter. Consider this a test run ;)_

Draco Malfoy let his fair head fall against the rough bark of the tree, not bothering to wince at the dull twinge that shot down his spine upon impact. The dampness of the grass underneath him quickly soaked through his robes, and seemed to penetrate into his very soul. He clenched the muscles of his jaw, willing his teeth to quit their chattering. Despite his listless mood, he had to admit that the lake was very beautiful. Underneath the moonlight, the water and everything surrounding it adopted a cool grey hue, deepened by the blue velvet of the sky. This was just as well – he doubted he would have been able to stand the warm, brilliant colors of a typical summer evening. Not tonight. Tonight he needed a storm.

He took a slow, labored breath, feeling his lungs and ribcage expand with the effort. As he exhaled, his eyelids slowly lowered themselves, and he tried to rid his mind of excess thoughts. The first few weeks of the term had drifted by in a haze. He remembered very little of what had happened, and he really didn't care to. Everything was different now. 7th year was supposed to be a celebration; a coming of age. It was supposed to be _his_ year. Instead, he felt more empty than ever before. He cared nothing about his grades, he barely associated with his "friends", and he held little regard for his future. He had plenty of gold to get him through what he expected to be a very short and miserable existence. Why put forth an effort? He didn't want to try. He didn't want to _feel_. Feeling had caused him more pain than good.

He scrunched lower down, shifting uncomfortably as his robes bunched into a tangle directly under the small of his back. As the sharp point of a tree root cut into his palm, he jerked back up into sitting position and cursed angrily. Wiping the small smear of blood onto his knee, he focused upon the surface of the water, which rippled toward him and broke softly against the sandy shore. A low sigh escaped his lips, carrying across the night air into the stillness. His sigh was echoed in the wind, which suddenly whistled through the trees and caused the tall grass to ripple across the hills in inconsistent waves. The hard planes of his face seemed to be chiseled out of stone, and he sat as still as a statue, observing everything around him, yet appearing to absorb none of it. There was something about his pose, however, that betrayed his guise of strength. The curve of the back that spoke of weariness, the hardness around the eyes that hinted of pain, the tightly balled fists that screamed for relief.

In short, Draco Malfoy was lost.

_(A/N - the last line isn't literal, just in case you missed that. He's still at Hogwarts. Also, I'm having some major difficulties with the layout and indenting and such. apparently tab doesn't work in the editing thingy? Any pointers would be appreciated.)_


	2. Chapter 2

_(Author's Note – Here's the next chapter! First, I'm going to clarify a few things. The story is set in seventh year. I'm keeping in canon through sixth year, but completely disregarding everything that happens in the Deathly Hallows. I hope that's not too confusing. Any dialog in italics is assumed to be thought, not spoken. Also, I feel like my writing is a bit rough. Sorry! I haven't written fiction since middle school, when I wrote a few LOTR fanfics. They were all abysmal. As usual, feel free to criticize, encourage, whatev.)_

* * *

Hermione Granger lifted her head at the sound of a sigh echoing across the calm expanse of water. She furrowed her brow, trying to gaze across the lake, but the darkness was much too thick for her eyes to penetrate. She thought she might be seeing the feeble movements of a small, dark figure, but it was impossible to tell for sure.

"Who else would be out at this time of night?", she muttered to herself.

Hermione had been lounging in the grounds since early afternoon, trying to escape the incessant bustle of Hogwarts. Normally, she enjoyed hearing the shouts of students bouncing off the walls of the Great Hall, but lately it had just been giving her a throbbing headache. The demands of 7th year were weighing on her heavily. She couldn't remember a time when she had felt this much stress; even her fears about O.W.L.S. during fifth year seemed minor in comparison. She was sick with worry over Harry and his search for the horcruxes, and her studies were becoming more and more overwhelming. So here she sat in the darkness, studying by the light of her wand. She felt a bit unnerved; she had felt quite sure that she was alone.

Hermione ignored these feelings, and began once more to pore over chapter 5 in her book of defensive spells. Defense Against the Dark Arts had never been her strongest subject, but she had always pushed herself to score top marks. This year, it was becoming much more difficult to maintain the grades that she felt were necessary to achieve. Still, she felt compelled to do her best. Waving her wand in the complicated pattern that was diagrammed on page 241, she narrowed her eyes and set her jaw, assuming what she affectionately referred to as her "spell face". It probably did nothing to enhance her performance, but somehow it made her feel more in control. Feeble sparks erupted out of the tip of her wand, and she frowned. This was the twelfth time she had attempted the _terrahumas_ spell, and so far her efforts had yielded few results. This was highly unusual for such a gifted witch as Hermione. She bent over and studied the ground in front of her, looking for any signs of change. The spell was used to manipulate natural elements, so they could be used for defense or attack. A few blades of grass appeared to be a bit scorched, which brought a small smile to Hermione's lips. At least she was getting a little bit closer. She stretched her shoulders and felt some of the tension slide off her back.

Her small victory was interrupted by a slightly muffled curse that carried from the other side of the lake. In a flash, her wand was at the ready, her wide eyes staring across the water.

"_Malfoy?!"_

The voice was too distinct to be mistaken for another. Thoughts whirled around in her head, making her dizzy.

"_Why is he here? __Is he going to hex me? Is he snogging some Slytherin girl?" _

She remained still, her entire body tense, for several minutes. When she was finally sure that he was unaware of her presence, she lowered her wand.

"_Malfoy. What a lovely companion to compliment the mood of the evening." _

This thought caused the corners of her mouth to twitch bitterly. She doubted she would able to get much more work done tonight, not with that arrogant git in such close proximity. Gathering her things huffily (but making sure not to make too much noise), Hermione stood and began creeping through the darkness. She tried to calculate Malfoy's approximate location based on the direction from which his voice had carried. It sounded like he was almost directly across the lake from her, which posed a bit of a problem. She was currently standing near the shore of the lake on the far left side of the castle. If Malfoy was at the far right side, he had a good chance of seeing her as she made her way back to the main entrance.

"_Merlin's beard! I would give anything for Harry's cloak right now._"

She quickly considered casting a disillusionment charm on herself, but she wasn't able to perform the spell non-verbally. She feared that her voice, like Draco's, might carry across the water. And she couldn't very well hex Malfoy, because she still couldn't see him clearly through the darkness. She resigned herself to creeping, which she was actually quite good at. She and the boys had six years of experience stalking around underneath Harry's invisibility cloak, so she felt confident in her ability to make her way back to the castle quite soundlessly. She just hoped that Malfoy would be too distracted to notice a form tiptoeing along the shore. Hermione shook this thought aside, took a deep breath, and started on her way.

Her gaze was glued to the ground, on the lookout for any dead leaves or twigs that might crack or snap under her step. She moved deliberately and slowly, staying in the grass just outside the edge of the shore. Breaths eased in and out of her lungs shallowly, causing her to crave oxygen like it was in short supply. Her feet moved deftly over the slight incline that marked the halfway point. A muffled sound from about 50 yards away startled her, and she stood frozen. Squinting her eyes, she could make out a flurry of movement underneath a small oak tree. The muffled noises continued.

"_Ah"_, she thought grimly, "_looks like Mr. Malfoy is __entertaining a special guest this evening. I totally called that. I deserve a chocolate frog for my foresight." _

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, but her eyes remained hard. Realizing there was no need to fear detection, she continued on her way a bit more boldly.

After another minute or so, Hermione was nearing the path that led back to the castle. Suddenly, a ragged sob tore through the darkness. Hermione jerked to a stop, her heart frozen from the pure brokenness of the sound. What, besides physical torture, could produce a noise that carried so much pain? She stood still for several seconds, then finally hazarded a glance in Malfoy's direction. Now it was all too clear that Draco was alone. Underneath the gnarled trunk, she could make out his trembling form. His spine curved outward, and his shoulders were hunched from an immense invisible load. His arms were wrapped tightly around him, as if he was trying to hold his body together. She couldn't see his expression, but she could only imagine what kind of pain was etched into the features that were so regularly twisted into a sneer.

Hermione's eyes softened, and she took a hesitant step in his direction. Her mind was filled with images from the past – Malfoy mocking her, hexing her, insulting her, picking fights with Harry and Ron. But none of it seemed to matter now. Her hand instinctively reached toward him, and she took another small step. She could her his labored breathing; she could see his agony wash over his body in waves. She could feel his shudders through the thick air between them. He drank the air in ragged gasps, and threw his face up towards the sky. The moonlight illuminated each plane of his face, highlighting his high cheekbones and shimmering in the tears that made their way towards his jaw. Her heart throbbed slowly, and seemed to be much heavier in her chest. Her lips parted slightly as she took another step towards him. She was close now. A twig snapped underneath her foot, and before she could react, Draco had leapt to his feet and stalked toward her, his wand pointed straight at her heart. His low growl seemed to rip through the space that divided them.

"Who's there?"

Hermione hesitated, realizing she had made a terrible mistake.

"It's... me."

Her voice faltered, and she lifted her face, allowing the pale light to reveal her features. A sharp hissing sound made her flinch as Draco inhaled quickly and recoiled from her hand, which was still stretched out. His eyes were narrowed, and his expression hardened with malice. "Get. Away. From. Me." His voice was dangerously low, and seemed to pierce straight through her heart. Hermione lowered her hand.

"I..."

The steely glint in Draco's eyes stopped her. The muscles in his square jaw clenched and unclenched, and the hand that pointed his wand at her trembled slightly. His gaze, however, did not. It was unwavering. His eyes bore into her soul, and time seemed to stand still. The pale light of midnight gleamed in the pools of his eyes. They were swimming with emotion, but remained unwelcoming and unyielding. Different hues of silver and grey swirled together in jagged lines, and Hermione couldn't breathe. She could still see the lines where tears cut down his face, and traced them with her eyes. Draco noticed her gaze, and his entire face darkened ominously. He spoke through clenched teeth.

"Now."

Hermione struggled to find breath again.

"I... I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking, and she turned to flee towards the castle and the comfort of her warm bed.

_(Author's Note - Dang it! I still can't figure out how to indent with this thing! I wonder if it's because my original documents are in OpenOffice. hmm.)_


	3. Chapter 3

(_Author's Note - Hurray! I'm starting to get back into the swing of writing. And I'm thinking about combining the 1st and 2nd chapters. Would anyone be opposed to that?)_

--

Draco Malfoy winced as a rouge ray of sunlight, which had been making its way across his silk pillow for almost half an hour, finally found its mark by shining directly into his left eye. Pushing his hands behind his tousled blonde hair, he arched his back into a deep stretch. Suddenly, a shudder rippled through his frame as he recalled the events of last night.

Stupid Mudblood with her stupid hair and stupid face and stupid hand reaching out to him, as if he would let her _touch_ him. Please. Like _that _would ever happen.

He must have had a pretty weird expression on his face, because Blaise raised an eyebrow at him.

"A bit dour this morning, are we?"

Draco frowned. Blaise was one to talk.

"Bugger off, git", he muttered utter his breath.

A crooked smirk flashed over Blaise's face, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He rarely let any emotion disturb his haughty features, but he was generally a little more relaxed around Draco.

"You coming to breakfast? You'd better hurry."

Draco groaned. He rather hated mornings. Especially sunny ones. And as luck would have it, this morning was bright and clear, which dampened his mood even further. He sat up in bed and slowly rolled his shoulders back, stretching his neck upwards and to each side. Then, placing his hands firmly on the rich silver silk of his bed, he reluctantly slid onto the cold stone floor.

"_Sweet MERLIN_!"

With a sudden running step that quickly lifted into a leap, Draco tried to escape the assault that the freezing tiles had launched on the soles of his feet. He landed in a bewildered heap on the expensive mink carpet in front of his bureau and slid to a stop, vainly trying to untangle the mess of limbs and fur.

Blaise was laughing unreservedly now, doubled over in his mirth. His white teeth glimmered in the light, and a wide smile was spread across his milk-chocolate skin.

Draco was not amused. He let out a low growl that reverberated inside their dome-like suite.

"You _took_ my _socks_? Seriously? That's got to be the lamest prank I've ever heard of. Could you not pull something more clever out of your self-absorbed, maniac gold-digger created, flimsy excuse of a head?"

Blaise merely sneered at him good-naturedly, his almond-shaped eyes twinkling.

"It's obviously too early for you to come up with a proper insult, mate. When you think of a good one, call me up."

Draco scowled at him with hard eyes. Coming up with fantastic emotional blows in the blink of an eye was one thing that he had always excelled in, and he took great pride in that fact. He already felt very cross, and his mood was not improved by this particular jab.

"And yes, I did take your socks. Is it my fault that you sleep like a rock? I just find it funny that our so-called "stud of a quidditch captain" can't even take a little bit of cold floor in the morning."

Draco picked himself off the floor and disappeared into his closet, muttering something about "tender feet".

Blaise lapsed into his signature "arrogantly laid back" stance with a smug look on his face, finding great satisfaction in the fact that he had obviously won victory in this little exchange. He decided to push it a bit further, and poked his head into the closet.

"Don't take too long in there, Drakey. We wouldn't want to keep your one-woman fan club waiting."

Sarcastic sing-song tones were Blaise's specialty the way that Draco's were biting and bitter.

"Stuff it, Zabini. I'm coming."

Draco still sounded a bit disgruntled, but Blaise knew it would pass soon. They were best mates; they rarely held grudges against each other.

Draco emerged from the closet a few moments later, dressed simply in a tailored black shirt and slate grey trousers. Although he didn't mind robes for school, he preferred dressing in muggle clothes on the weekend. It added variety, and it was an excellent way to flaunt his wealth.

"Okay. Let's get out of here."

_--_

_Hermione stared in horror at Draco. His wand was pointed at her heart, and he glared menacingly into her eyes. Her brow furrowed as memories, countless memories flooded through her mind. His large, strong hand holding hers. His extraordinary silver eyes, softening as they studied her features. His beautiful words, whispered gently into her ear. How could things change so quickly?_

"_Draco, I..."_

"_Don't _call _me that. You aren't even worthy to speak my name, mudblood."_

_Hermione's eyes widened in shock and hurt. Her head was swimming, and Draco's tall, imposing figure loomed before her. As he stepped closer and closer, his features twisted. It was not the face that she remembered and loved so dearly, it had changed; his expression distorted and sinister. He smirked, breathing in her fear._

"_I thought... I thought..." She couldn't manage to choke out the words._

_His eyes were cold, and his sneer widened._

"_What? What did you think, little Granger? That I _loved_ you?"_

_Hermione took in a shuddering breath. Draco smiled, his real smile, and a trace of hope glimmered in her eyes. His smooth, velvet voice crooned in her ear and wrapped itself around her heart._

"_But I do, Granger. I do." _

_Hermione moved her mouth to speak, but Draco's finger pressed itself firmly onto her lips. His silver eyes bore into her, and unearthed every vulnerability, saw through every pretense. His fierce whisper froze her very soul._

"_But I'll love killing you more. Avada Kedavra!"_

_And all went black._

Hermione's eyes shot open, and she flipped onto her back, gasping for breath. It took several seconds to reorient herself. She was lying in her four-poster bed in the Gryffindor dormitory. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen, and she obviously wasn't dead, so the nightmare must have been just that... a nightmare. She glanced at the clock and sighed. There was no way she could go back to sleep now. She might as well get up. Really, she was planning to get an early start anyway, since last night's studied had been disrupted.

Malfoy.

She groaned and tried to run her hand through her hair. It got stuck almost instantly.

"Blast!" Her furious whisper caused a few of the girls in adjacent beds to stir.

It was just as well. She was damp with sweat anyway, and a nice hot shower always helped her to relax, no matter how terrible she was feeling.

She swung her slender legs over the edge of the bed and felt for the floor with the tips of her toes. The smooth stone was cool under her feet, and she slipped silently through the darkness without hesitation. She knew these halls better than her own house. Hogwarts was such a comfort to her. She hated when anything complicated her time here. She didn't know what to think or do about this whole Draco thing.

She immediately regretted that thought. Because there wasn't a thing. What happened last night... that wasn't a thing. Definitely not. It was just a stupid, stupid mistake. And the dream... that was just her mind trying to find an outlet for all this stress. Or maybe trying to warn her of something...

Scratch that thought.

Hermione turned the water on almost as hot as it would go. At this point, she really didn't care if it burned her skin or not. In fact, she would welcome the distraction. She was thinking too much, as usual.

She undressed quickly and hopped in the shower. Breathing in the steam seemed to help quieten her mind. The hot water pounded on her back, steady and warm, like a lullaby. She spun around and let the water flow onto the crown of her head. She parted her lips, and the stream gently followed the curves of her mouth. She could feel the tension slowly melt out of her body. She visualized it wash down the drain, and the corners of her mouth lifted up into a small smile. Maybe today wouldn't be so terrible after all.

When Hermione stepped out of the shower, her questions seemed smaller, and much easier to answer. What happened last night... it really wasn't as horrible as she thought it was. She was merely showing concern. Malfoy's just a person. Last night was the first time she had truly seen that. Seriously, what decent person would have left him there alone, crying his soul out? True, he was an insufferable git, and he had gotten angry. But he was probably just embarrassed. He's probably not accustomed to people catching him in weakness. The events that occurred in the bathroom last year with Harry proved it.

There was a bit more spring in Hermione's step as she made her way to the Great Hall for an early breakfast. Draco might pretend that last night never happened. Or he might try and make her life miserable. But Hermione was quite sure she could handle anything he might throw at her.

Bring it on, Draco Malfoy.

--

When Draco entered the Great Hall, he was still feeling very cross. The morning had gotten off to a very rough start, and he was still agonizing over last night. Most of his anger was directed towards Granger, but he was starting to become increasingly furious at himself as well. He was a Malfoy. And Malfoys didn't cry. Ever. This was the _second_ time a goody two shoes Gryffindor had caught him crying. What was happening to him? Was he becoming soft?

Pansy interrupted his thoughts by latching herself onto his arm.

"Drakey!! I was wondering when you would get here! You're never this late. I thought you weren't coming for me!"

Draco glared at her coolly. His voice was dangerously low.

"And what makes you think I came for _you_?

Pansy's brow furrowed, and she pushed her lower lip out, dropping her hands from Draco's bicep. She sulked for several seconds, then plastered a sweet smile on her face.

"Here," she crooned, "why don't you eat a cinnamon bun? I'm sure you'll feel better."

Draco smeared an equally sweet smile across his features, but his eyes remained like ice.

"Why don't you sod off? I'm sure that would make _everyone_ feel better."

Pansy let out a small gasp and looked very affronted.

There was no stopping Draco now. He was on a roll.

"And while we're on the subject... you might want to lay off the cinnamon buns as well. If you know what I mean."

Pansy's eyes widened, and she did a quick once-over of her figure in the nearest mirror. A look of dismay crossed her features, and she shot Draco a very nasty glare, then burst into tears and stalked out of the Great Hall.

Nope. Definitely not going soft.

Blaise must have decided that this exchange merited an exception to his "no expression in public" rule, because he allowed a surprised smirk to light up his perfect features.

"Blimey, mate. That more than makes up for this morning. That was totally brutal...even for you."

Draco shot him a smug grin, with only the tiniest bit of sheepishness thrown in. Pansy was, after all, his girlfriend. Technically speaking, anyway. He generally tolerated her ridiculous behavior in exchange for the, ah, _favors_ that she was willing to give him. Lately, though, he had become increasingly indifferent. Blaise was the only one around whom Draco was able to act normally. It was if he had lost his zeal for life. He couldn't even take as much pleasure in other people's pain. People like Potter.

Something about last year had changed him. Working for the Dark Lord... noone understands what that's like unless they've lived it. The fear that eats away at you, the extreme helplessness – knowing that if you don't get the job done, he'll go after your family. Knowing that once he goes after them... nothing can be done. It's over. And the guilt was overwhelming. Draco knew that he was an arrogant jerk. That's just how things were, how they'd always been. But he wasn't...evil. He knew that as soon as he and Dumbledore were alone in the tower. There he was, so close to saving his family, and his own life. He just had to _do_ it. He had the opportunity. He had the motive. He had the power. But he couldn't. Dumbledore was a good man. A great man, even. Draco had never held much like for the headmaster, but he didn't deserve to die. It was _so_ like Snape to take things into his own greasy hands. He was always butting in, always ruining things...and now he was off somewhere, with the Dark Lord, living it up as the right hand man. Draco hated him almost as much as he hated himself.

The Dark Lord had ruined so many lives, including his own. Even if Voldemort never claimed his life, he had left his mark on Draco. And that mark could never be washed away.

Draco pushed his plate away untouched, and quietly exited the Great Hall, unaware of the keen pair of eyes that followed his movements.

_(Author's Note - I'm actually rather pleased with this chapter. I hope you are too! Reviews would be nice )_


	4. Chapter 4

(_Author's Note - Chapter four! Sorry it took me so long to post it... I've been swamped. I'm moving back to school at the end of this week... hurray! I'm going to try to keep updating fairly regularly during the school year, so keep reading!)_

Hermione sighed contentedly as she sunk into her seat in Advanced Transfiguration.

"Oi! You can do better than that!"

"Three points! Eat that, Ron!"

"You're going to eat your words, mate! Just you wait!"

She quickly shifted to the right edge of her chair in an attempt to give Harry and Ron ample space – they had, for some reason, bewitched their Transfiguration textbooks (which were quite large and heavy, by the way) into whacking the other person repeatedly. While trying to shield their heads with their arms, they egged on their books with enthusiasm. The rest of the class watched with amusement, and a few students rooted for their chosen favorite.

Hermione rolled her eyes, then pursed her lips into her signature stern look.

"Honestly. Could you two be any more barbaric? This is a classroom, not a boxing ring!"

Harry and Ron suddenly paused their game in order to stare at her in disbelief. Ron spoke first.

"Barbaric? Hermione, you obviously don't know what you're talking about. We have a point system! Besides, what makes you qualified to be a judge? Did one of your little books tell you that a bit of fun is 'barbaric'?"

Harry looked a bit uncomfortable. He was hardly in the mood for another Ron vs. Hermione epic squabble. Keeping his gaze to Hermione's face in fear of her reaction, he gave Ron a quick elbow to the ribs. Ron hissed in pain and looked at Harry with questioning eyes. Harry's deep emerald eyes flashed him a warning, before he turned back to Hermione.

Thankfully, she was feeling gracious that morning. Instead of scowling, she actually chuckled.

"I hardly think that a point system makes your little game into a sophisticated sports event. And if you were a spectator, I think you would have to agree that this _is _a little barbaric, although I'm sure it is done with the _best_ intentions of... erm... nobility."

The class tittered in agreement. Hermione continued.

"But. I suppose it wouldn't do any harm for you to continue until McGonagall comes. Just try not to hurt each other, okay?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other and shrugged, then brandished their wand fiercely so that the books continued to bash the other soundly on any body part they could get to.

Suddenly, prim voice floated in from the doorway.

"Wouldn't that be _Professor_ McGonagall, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's face blanched, and the boys immediately grabbed their books from the air.

"Yes, Professor! I'm sorry, Professor!" Hermione managed to squeak out, after a few seconds pause.

McGonagall appraised her expression with a stern eye, then flashed her a small smile.

"That's quite alright, Miss Granger. Just make sure it doesn't happen again."

Hermione nodded frantically.

"Yes, Professor!"

McGonagall's gaze shifted from her anxious face to a few Slytherins in the back of the class, who were mocking Hermione mercilessly. Shooting them a stern glare, her voice raised a few notches in volume.

"As for you three, that will be quite enough."

The boys froze, and she nodded with satisfaction. Picking up her long robes, she breezed to the front of the classroom and began that day's lesson.

--

Draco slumped further down in his chair, and scowled lazily at Slughorn.

"Mister Malfoy. Do you realize that the boy you so inexpertly hexed was a first year, and that his father happens to be on the Board of Governors?"

Draco rolled eyes his toward the dark ceiling of the potions dungeon, and shrugged impatiently.

"You could have seriously injured the boy! He's in the hospital wing, getting sorted out by Madame Pomfrey. And for Merlin's sake, Malfoy! If you _insist_ on hexing a first year, make sure you pay attention to what you are doing!"

Slughorn's face was getting redder by the minute.

Malfoy pursed his lips and twitched an eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

Slughorn's watery eyes widened, and he began to pace through the dungeon agitatedly.

"Why did you hex him in the first place? Or do you need a reason? In my day, Slytherins had a sense of honor! We would never attack a fellow student unless we were provoked!"

Draco sighed.

"I had a reason, okay? That little brat was polluting the atmosphere of the common room. I was trying to study, but he kept asking me questions about the Quidditch team. I had to do something to shut him up, didn't I?

He looked at the professor with mock seriousness, and his voice became laced with a sweetness that was dripping was scathing sarcasm.

"Our N.E.W.T.S are coming up, after all. You wouldn't want me to forfeit my future. If I don't score well, I might not land a well paying job, and then I might not be able to keep my _beloved_ head of house fat and happy with pounds and pounds of crystallized pineapple."

He smirked as Slughorn swelled with outrage.

"OUT! Detention until further notice, Mister Malfoy!!"

His chubby finger shook as it pointed to the stone doorway.

Draco stood up, and bowed mockingly.

"Gladly, Horace."

He swept his heavy cloak behind him, and sauntered out into the hallway.

--

Hermione sank down onto her bed and lay completely still for several minutes, trying to keep her breathing slow and steady. The rich maroon down comforter on her bed formed to the shape of her body, and she decided to never get up. She should definitely just finish out the year on her bed. There was plenty of room to study. And to sleep. Oh, sweet sleep. Just now she was beginning to realize how much sleep she had lost in the past few weeks. Her eyelids felt weighted, as did her legs and head. She stretched her arms out further behind her head and yawned. She couldn't keep doing this. Yes, schoolwork was important; one of the most important things in her life, actually – but now her late nights and early mornings were starting to take a toll on her health. Her body constantly felt worn; like she would start to tear apart if she made any sudden movements. There were great dark circles under her eyes, and she felt ready to go to sleep as early as 3:00 in the afternoon.

She didn't have any more classes today, so Hermione decided to treat herself to a well-needed nap. She could study later tonight, but she promised herself that she would go to bed at a decent time. She was a smart witch, after all... she was sure that she would still be able to score well on her exams, even if she didn't stay up all night every night studying. Actually, she might score better if she was rested and alert. Her reflexes tended to be slower when she was tired.

Her thoughts drifted to the lake. She hadn't risked going there since the encounter with Malfoy. She couldn't bear the thought of being alone with him again, after their heated exchange. Well, he was heated. She just felt awkward, embarrassed, and a little frightened.

It would probably be okay to study there tonight, though. Before dark. It wasn't as though Malfoy had a claim on the lake. It was public property!

Hermione was starting to feel a little indignant.

Maybe Malfoy doesn't even go to the lake regularly. She had never seen him there, actually, and she had taken to studying there almost every night. Maybe he was just looking for a quiet, secluded spot that night.

Hermione snorted to herself. If wanted secluded, then why would he go on the grounds, where anyone could wander up and see him crying?

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows a bit, admonishing herself. That was rather insensitive. An image of Draco, curled up in pain, flashed through her mind. It wasn't right to make light of someone else's pain. Hermione had cried enough tears to recognize that.

She vaguely wondered what had caused someone as hard as Malfoy to break down so bitterly.

The warm rays of sunshine streaming through her round window soothed away her thoughts, and carried her into dreams.

* * *

Hermione stirred as a hand gently shook her shoulder.

"Miss Granger?"

The voice was urgent, and Hermione struggled to open her eyes.

"Whaa...?"

The slightly blurry face of Professor McGonagall peered down at her.

"Miss Granger. You need to come to the hospital wing... Mr. Potter has been hurt."

The lines around her eyes were hard with worry, and she didn't bother to push her glasses up as they slid down her nose.

Hermione promptly fell out of the bed in her hurry to get up. She pushed away McGonagall's hands, and scrambled to her feet, still feeling a bit disoriented.

"Harry? What happened? Is he going to be alright?"

McGonagall hesitated, then nodded slowly.

"Yes, he should recover fairly quickly. But he's in for a rough night. He asked for you, so I'd get going."

Hermione, still a bit dazed, felt herself being pushed toward the door by her Head of House.

"Right. Thank-you for waking me up, Professor."

She ran down the stairs and flung herself through the portrait hole, grateful for the fact that she hadn't changed into pajamas for her nap. Not that she would have paused to change clothes if she had, but still. As she flew down the hall, she tried to look out the windows and determine what time it was. The sky was dim, but not completely dark. Maybe around eight? Sweet Merlin! She had slept for almost five hours!

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted as she crashed into something tall, firm, and warm. She let out a small gasp, and waited for the hard impact of the cold stone floor, but it never came. She realized that a pair of strong hands were holding her waist, steadying her. She looked up, and a pair of glistening silver eyes bore into her own. He quickly dropped his hands from her waist.

"Thanks, Draco," she breathed, lightly sliding past him. After taking a second to regain her composure, she continued her dash toward the hospital wing, trying desperately to ignore the warmth emanating from the spots where Draco Malfoy's hands had been just moments before.

* * *

"Mione!"

Ron rushed toward her, and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. After he pulled back and held her at arms length, she studied his face. He was as pale as a sheet; the freckles splayed over his nose and cheeks stood out more distinctly than ever. There was worry etched in his brow, and his eyes swum with regret.

"Where's Harry? Is he alright?"

Ron nodded gravely, and taking her hand, led her through the entrance to the hospital wing and towards a bed surrounded by white curtains. He pulled back the curtain on the end, and Hermione slipped in, taking in a quick breath when she saw Harry.

His entire face was swollen and cut – he didn't even look like himself. His broken glasses lay on the small table beside his bed, along with his wand.

She looked at Ron, who gazed numbly at his friend.

"Is he...?"

"Just sleeping," Ron assured.

As if on cue, Harry stirred, and groaned. His eyes opened a sliver, and he tried to smile as he saw Hermione standing at the side of his bed.

"Mione," he croaked, "I'm... glad you're here."

His head shifted a bit to the side, and he closed his eyes again.

"Ow."

Ron grinned in spite of himself.

"That was a close one, mate."

He went forward a few paces, and placed his large hand on Harry's shoulder.

Hermione locked eyes with Ron, feeling lost and worried.

"But... what happened?"

He looked older. She hadn't noticed it before, but she saw it now. Something about the eyes...

"We were looking. For the, uh..."

Hermione's hand flew over her mouth. She barely dared to whisper.

"For a horcrux?"

(_Author's Note - I hope you liked this chapter! And it would be really, really great if you reviewed!)_


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